


Window

by diemarysues



Series: flip-flops and flick knives [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs cuddle fic. This one's for Lauren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leinthalexandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leinthalexandra/gifts).



> Happy birthday, bb!

Oh, god, why was she even bothering with this shit? Thorin rubbed under her eyes. It was too cold, her chair was giving her backache, and she was tired. Couldn’t she just go back upstairs where a warm bed and warm company waited?

 

Were _supposed_ to be waiting.

 

“Thorin? What are you doing up?”

 

She didn’t look up, hurriedly closing tabs. “Just… some work.”

 

Bilbo said something in reply to this, but it was half-swallowed by a yawn. Thorin looked up. Her jaw went slack.

 

“You’re… that’s mine.”

 

Bilbo looked down at herself and the overlarge sweater she was wearing. “Yeah, sorry. I’d’ve just come down in my pyjamas, but it’s a little cold.” She pouted. “Especially with an empty bed.”

 

Thorin was still staring. Bilbo didn’t wear much in the way of pyjamas, so it looked like she was _only_ wearing the dark blue sweater. Their size difference being as apparent as it was, it hung well past her hips and covered her hands entirely. The collar, wide even on Thorin, threatened to slip off one of Bilbo’s delicate shoulders.

 

Um.

 

“Thorin?”

 

“Hmm? Oh – er. I had to work.”

 

“Yeah, you said.” She reached _inside_ the sweater and pulled out her glasses, putting them on. The black plastic sat on the bridge of her nose as she leaned down to peer at the computer screen. “Anything I can help with?”

 

“Ah, no. I’m just about finished, anyway.” Luckily she’d managed to close everything incriminating. It… wasn’t a conversation Thorin was quite ready for just yet. She started the shut down sequence.

 

“You sure?” Slender fingers brushed some loose hair behind Thorin’s ear. “You look… tired.”

 

“It is four in the morning.” Thorin caught her wrist, kissing her palm, wool and all. “You’re tired too.”

 

“I was asleep until a few minutes ago, unlike you.” She yawned widely, pulling back her hand so she could stretch her arms over her head. Her – that is to say, Thorin’s – sweater inched upwards, just exposing the frills of her pants.

 

Honestly. Frills.

 

“You’re blushing.”

 

“I am not,” Thorin retorted automatically, tucking in her chin. After a moment of silence, she muttered, “You look good.”

 

“I’m drowning in Aran knit.”

 

“Hmm.” She gave in and fingered the hem of the sweater, letting her touch dip underneath and dance over the tempting warmth there. “What’s your point?”

 

“My point’s that I look ridiculous.” Bilbo sighed in the most long-suffering way imaginable as she stepped close at Thorin’s urging. Insistent hands, now at the backs of both her thighs, brought her almost completely in Thorin’s lap. “And you’re being ridiculous.”

 

“Am not.” Thorin rubbed her thumbs in slow circles to watch Bilbo bite down on her full lip. “And as I said, you look good. Y’should wear my clothes more often.”

 

And _there_ was an idea, make no mistake. Not her trousers, that would just be ridiculous. But the idea of Bilbo in one of her button-downs… collar in disarray, half the buttons undone, dark silk against silky skin…

 

“While I’m sure your imaginings are really interesting, considering the charming expression on your face,” Bilbo said, neatly cutting into Thorin’s thoughts, “I actually would like to go back to bed. With you.”

 

“To sleep, presumably,” Thorin said, trying to sound grumpy.

 

“You need it.” Her girlfriend gently touched the bags under her eyes; both started when the computer screen turned off and threw them into relative darkness. Bilbo had left the hallway light on upstairs and it cast an orange glow that caught the gold in her curls. “Come on, Thorin. Up, up, up.”

 

“Alright, bossy.” She stood, keeping her hands on Bilbo so that they slid up to her wide hips, hiking up the sweater. Thorin towered over Bilbo, dipping her head to nuzzle their noses together. “Admit it; you just want to sleep in.”

 

“Don’t you?” Bilbo made a soft whining sound, rising to her toes. “You’re making me cold.”

 

“It’s not that bad.”

 

“ _I_ am not a human furnace.”

 

“You like that about me.”

 

Bilbo’s look of utter indifference was one that could only be compared to Thorin’s own (or perhaps Dís’, if she cared to bring her sister into the picture, which she didn’t right now), and Thorin chuckled. She let her hands slide down again.

 

“Fine, fine. As you said, up, up, up.”

 

Bilbo suffered through the indignity of being lifted with another loud sigh. Obligingly, she wrapped her legs around Thorin’s waist and her arms around her neck. “You are a strange, strange person.”

 

“It’s not strange to like carrying my tiny girlfriend around.” Thorin pressed a small kiss to the corner of Bilbo’s mouth before walking to the stairs, one hand cupping Bilbo’s thigh and the other under her bottom. Anticipating Bilbo’s response, she added, “You are tiny, no arguing about it.”

 

“Being shorter than you doesn’t make me tiny.”

 

“Being shorter than Dís does.” As she scaled the steps, Bilbo tucked her head against Thorin’s neck, making Thorin feel extremely satisfied with her life. And why shouldn’t she feel satisfied? Things were stable, and she had Bilbo by her side. And, sure, there were some things that still needed seeing to but they could… wait.

 

It was the matter of (silent) minutes to get them to the bedroom. Thorin hesitated by the bedside.

 

“Now what’s the matter?”

 

Very much aware of imminent teasing, Thorin nonetheless admitted truthfully, “If I let you down, I have to let you go.”

 

“Oh for –” Small fingers turned her head so they were looking at each other. There was no irritation on Bilbo’s face – oh, alright, there was _some_ irritation there – as she said, “Thorin, you can still hold me when we’re on the bed. We’ll just be horizontal instead of vertical.”

 

Put that way, it did make her sound very silly.

 

The bed bounced a little as Bilbo was deposited on it. She placed her glasses on the table as Thorin unceremoniously shucked her sweatpants – thus declaring herself ready for bed. She paused when she noticed Bilbo kneeling on the mattress, watching her shyly.

 

“You mind if I wear this to sleep?”

 

Thorin lowered herself onto her side of the bed, encouraging Bilbo to lie down as well. “So long as you don’t boil, I don’t see a problem.” As she’d admitted earlier, she’d be quite happy if Bilbo helped herself to Thorin’s wardrobe.

 

Bilbo kissed her nose.

 

“Do you want to be the little spoon, or the big spoon?”

 

“I’ll be the tiny spoon.”

 

Thorin rolled her eyes. “C’mere, then.” Despite the relative newness of their physical relationship (when compared to how long they’d known each other and how long they’d officially been dating), they both arranged their limbs and bodies with the ease and familiarity suggestive of long years of sleeping together. Bilbo fit incredibly neatly underneath her chin.

 

“You know what’s really annoying?”

 

“What?”

 

“Now I’m not sleepy.”

 

“You’re right,” Thorin said, nosing the curls at the nape of Bilbo’s neck. “That is really annoying.”

 

Bilbo blindly swatted at her. “Shut up. Tell me a story.”

 

“Either or.”

 

“What?”

 

“Either ask me to shut up or to tell you a story. Make up your mind.” She hid her smile and gripped Bilbo’s arm so she couldn’t be elbowed. “Hey!”

 

“Tell me a story, then, smart-arse.”

 

“No, you tell me a story.”

 

“I always tell you stories.”

 

“Yeah, because you’re better at it.”

 

Bilbo turned a little in her arms, fixing her with entirely unfair look – one filled with huge hazel eyes that glowed in the half gloom of their ( _their_ ) bedroom. “Thorin,” she said, and her voice was sweet and light like raw honey on thick white bread, “please tell me a story.”

 

Oh, that wasn’t fucking playing fair.

 

Thorin curled their bodies together so her bare thighs pressed against Bilbo’s more firmly. “What story would you like?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Hmm.” She tried to cast her mind about for something that wouldn’t precipitate uncomfortable questions. She was so deep in her thoughts that Bilbo giggled and jerked before Thorin realised where her hand had ended up. “Oh, sorry –”

 

“No, no.” Bilbo pressed her palm to the back of Thorin’s hand, which was snug underneath the sweater and underneath Bilbo’s top to span her belly. “Leave it.”

 

Thorin hummed and pulled Bilbo as close as she could. “Have I ever told you about the time Frerin thought to lock us in the bathroom?”

 

“No, you haven’t.”

 

“Well, he did. Even I can’t remember how he managed it, exactly. But the point is that he got both me and Dís in there. She wasn’t happy.”

 

“Can’t imagine you were either,” Bilbo said dryly.

 

True enough. “Well, as soon as we both calmed down enough to stop yelling at our idiotic brother, we managed to figure out that we could reach the top window.”

 

“You didn’t.”

 

“Dís gave me a boost and then I pulled her up. Cut my foot open on the latch, but we got free without Frerin noticing.”

 

“I have a feeling that’s not the end of the story.”

 

“It’d be a poor story if so.” Thorin held in her hiss when ten cold toes settled against her shins. “Dís and I… just thought we’d get our own back by getting Frerin in trouble.”

 

“How’d you manage that?” Bilbo asked curiously.

 

“Well, we waited for Mum to come home.” She could still remember crouching in the bushes with Dís by her side, both barefoot and struggling as only children could to stay quiet and still. “When she did, there was the inevitable explosion as she found out what Frerin’d done.”

 

“And a second one once the door was opened and you two weren’t there?” Bilbo guessed.

 

“Got it in one.” Thorin mapped the line of Bilbo’s shoulder with tiny kisses and closed eyes to keep herself awake. “Unfortunately she heard us giggling outside the window. And she wasn’t too happy about my foot.”

 

“I can’t imagine she was. Considering she was already worried.”

 

“Mmhmm. She told our –” breaking off to yawn, Thorin unconsciously tightened her hold on Bilbo. “She told our Father, and even though he scolded us in front of her, he made sure to slip us extra dessert that night.”

 

“Daddy’s girls, were you?”

 

“Hmmwhat? Oh, no, no – Frerin was his favourite, no matter how much he tries to deny it.” Bilbo’s hair was wonderfully soft. Smelled nice too. “Father just thought it was hilarious.” Had she bought new shampoo? This didn’t smell like her shampoo.

 

“Oh. Okay.” She was silent for… all of twenty seconds. “So when do I get to meet Frerin again?”

 

In her effort to stifle her sigh, Thorin’s yawn escaped. “When he comes back for the holidays, I expect. If he comes back,” she mumbled. They both shifted, Bilbo’s leg slipping comfortably between Thorin’s. “If I know my brother – and I do – he’ll come. According to Dís, he was _very_ interested to know you were here.”

 

“I think I should be worried by that.”

 

Thorin nodded tiredly. “You should.”

 

“He can’t be that bad.” Bilbo sounded unsure, though, and Thorin could tell without looking that her brows were knitted worriedly.

 

“I just –” A jaw-creaking yawn. “Just told you how he locked his sisters in a bathroom. For hours. He got worse from there, trust me.”

 

“You’re biased.”

 

“Mmm. So?”

 

“So why should I trust what you say?”

 

“…because you love me?”

 

“That’s really got nothing to do with anything.”

 

Thorin cracked an eye open. “I didn’t understand that at all.”

 

“It was perfectly coherent.”

 

“Wasn’t.”

 

Bilbo sighed.

 

“Wait, what – what’re you doing?” Thorin blearily blinked as her girlfriend flipped over, dislodging their previous (carefully constructed) positions. “Tiny – I thought you were tiny spoon.”

 

“I am,” was the endlessly patient reply. “I’m also moving because you, my Thorin, are completely out of it.”

 

…she was supposed to disagree with that. “Am not.”

 

“Definitely are.” Beautifully soft lips kissed her chin, and Thorin’s heart glowed. “Goodnight, sweetheart. You can tell me more stories tomorrow.”

 

“G’night, dear one.”


End file.
